


white chocolate

by decidingdolan



Series: us two [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Finn is a little too much in love but a little more in denial, Introspection, M/M, Nervous Poe, Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5609680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidingdolan/pseuds/decidingdolan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Finn bakes. Poe sings. And impromptu stargazing happens. (The Jacket also makes an appearance.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	white chocolate

> _Sometimes I like you so much I can’t stand it. It fills up inside me, all the way to the brim, and I feel like I could overflow. I like you so much I don’t know what to do with it. My heart beats so fast when I know I’m going to see you again. And then, when you look at me the way you do, I feel like the luckiest [person] in the world._
> 
> \--- _Jenny Han, P.S. I Still Love You_

* * *

 

You handed him the box at the hangar, right before he left for his latest mission.

"What's this?" he asked, an eyebrow raised, the ghost of a smirk lingering on his lips.

It suited him, the smirk. His smirk. The way his jacket fitted your skin. Clung to you, more like.

A second skin. A familiarity. A sense of belonging. A home.

With a man you'd exchanged but a few words with before things came crashing down.

You smiled, hand on the top of the box, another clutching your datapad at your side.

"It's..." you stopped yourself in time, and restarted, "You'll find out." And there was that playful hint in his eyes that you'd come to recognize. He nodded, eyes laughing (no lies. He was one of those ones.), and bent his head down. Brushed his lips against the skin of your palm.

"Just--"

Your hand holding the box burned. Words scuttled down your throat, and breathing became somewhat of a chore.

Great. Top of the class you are, Finn.

He glanced up at you, eyes flitted to your face, and you almost believed lightsabers would lose their powers come Poe Dameron's eyes.

Those sweet browns could kill you whole.

They were a sight, the first time you met him, sweat and blood. They locked you down and tore you up. Asked if you wanted to stay and had you stranded, no complaints.

You'd rather be prisoner by their terms, than to forget and let go.

"Thanks," he said. Warm voice that could melt subzero winters. A hand grasped yours at the box's top, and another wrapping itself around the bottom.

You shook your head, willing yourself to release the box to its (current) rightful owner. You let go, and he hugged the box to his chest.

You heard a coin drop somewhere in your head.

Say something, for stars' sake, Finn! Say something. Anything.

"I'll miss you," blurted a voice that was entirely foreign to your ears (Shit. Why the hell did you say that?) A cross between a squirrel's nervous squeak and a captive under interrogation. "I--you know that, right? It's gonna be awful quiet around here, and you're..."

That smile again. The one that snapped you back in and had you call him your home.

He laughed, a low, full sound that promised to echo in your ears for days.

(When was anything not about him these days?)

"It's only a week, Finn," he said, mock saluting you. "Be right back before you know it."

That's him. Mr. Popular, Mr. Confidence. The People Person, the face of the Resistance's aviation division, the crowd pleaser. Always the optimist and hardly ever the loner. His own best enemy and confidant. The rule breaker and risk taker who took to certain little details of customs.

Like (adorably) saluting you for no reason.

And naming you.

(Who does that? Who does _that?_

Cementing your existence. Confirming your individuality. Taking a code, a set of randomized numbers and smashing it down for a name. A word that was meant for someone. A sound that was meant to represent you.

A nickname, finally. You're no longer 'one of those,' as they used to say in training.

You're one of his.

...at least, you preferred to think of it that way, whatever he thought of you now (or then).)

"Just don't leave the box till the last minute!"

Didn't realize you were yelling after him until the X-Wing was taking off.

It was stepping back and waving goodbye.

But he saluted you again, all the same.

 

* * *

 

Rey was ...

...well, she was staring at you like you'd lost BB-8 back in Jakku (which 1. would never happen, and 2. BB-8 would have lost you, in the more probable case.)

"You... what?"

Her voice was an octave higher than normal, and you were more than a little suspicious she was using the Force to peer into your head.

But then the girl broke into laughter, her lips stretched in that wide, full-toothed smile you'd come to love, her body shaking.

"What," was all you were left with.

Your tiny sleeping quarter was shrinking by the second.

She'd dropped by to dispatch the latest from General Organa, and you couldn't resist the urge to grab her hand ("What is it with you and my hand, Finn?") and draw her back in with an almost incomprehensible "Need your help."

"I baked him something," you added, blunt, lest she walked out, far from your reach.

She dropped your hand.

And that's when it started.

Her immediate reply. The realization coloring her cheeks. Seconds of silence.

And then. Laughter.

"You mean...him," she gestured toward the quarter across from yours, "Him... _the_ Poe Dameron?"

"You know who I meant," you replied.

She grinned, " _Now_ you've caught on."

"Caught on? To what? I'm ..." you did a complete 360 degrees scan of the room, in case BB-8 was lurking in a certain corner, (behind your closet was the droid's favorite spot. The moving ball shadowed Poe around the base, and he'd been in your room enough times for the droid to have a preferred point of view.

Not that, you know, anything more happened than BB-8 taking up a small area of your room.

Not the obvious, obviously. Poe was always visiting- that was _his_ thing. Dropping by.

Just dropping by.)

but you'd reacted too fast, of course. The droid was several galaxies away by now, huddled in his pod and...

...you need to learn binary, you'd been telling yourself that. No more Poe as the middle man.

Rey's hand on your shoulder brought you back to her.

"Caught onto _Poe_ , Finn, that's what I'm talking about," her eyes bored into yours, "Haven't you noticed him lately?"

A whole lot, if you were to be honest.

A whole too damn much lot.

 

* * *

 

 

It seemed the gravity stabilizer had stopped working.

You could hear the shift of his (new) jacket's fabric against his skin, and you started to wonder why.

He had asked you a question, that you remembered.

Where you both were, or what you had been doing up to that point - were unknown to you.

All that was--all you knew--were the eyes in front of yours.

They blinked. They stopped. You stared. He smiled.

No sounds.

Your world was blank. The pilot stood, opposite you, so close you could trace his jawline with your lips (tempting).

But it would be silly to do so in this floating headspace of yours.

And not that you could move. You'd barely made an effort to. One glance at him, and you were lost. Here, with him and nowhere to go.

No words to say.

Words. Right.

....

What were those again?

"It was...good," you finally managed.

(Wow. Three words. Exemplary, Finn.)

You saw him bite his lower lip. Watched his cheeks bloom in cotton candy pink, and Poe coughed.

One, two.

Dark browns met yours again.

 

* * *

 

The blanket above you vibrated.

It was a few hours after you'd landed on Hoth. Practice flying mission, with him as your mentor. (Poe turned a Kylo Ren lightsaber shade of red when he scooped up the beeping BB-8 into the designated seat. He lifted a finger to his lips, silencing the droid with an audible /shh/, and again you kicked yourself for procrastinating on your binary lessons.)

Night fell, and you both agreed to a few hours' rest before heading back home.

You'd made space in an abandoned base's hall. Poe crashed on the bench in a corner, BB-8 bobbing near his side, and you opted for the floor.

"Come on, you've slept plenty times on the floor," you told him, "Can't let you do that this time."

He took one look at the floor- dirt and debris- and squeezed your shoulder.

"You sure?" he'd asked you this too often, in your opinion, and your answer had always been the same: You'd always be certain with him. He trusted you with his life, and now (most days) you're trusting him with yours. "You did a pretty good job today, flying out there." It'd take the Force for you to admit it, but his little encouragements were the best part of any training day.

"Thought you should get the better bunk, Finn," he continued, "BB-8 and I, we were just along for the ride."

The droid let out a sentence that did not at all resemble an agreement.

You waved a hand. "You weren't," you corrected him, sitting down on the floor in front of him, "I'm just going to sleep here, alright? I'm tired."

No more talking. No more talking. You'd come up with the Last Available White Lie, and your brain was shutting down.

"Goodnight, buddy," he muttered, giving in (finally) and plunking himself on the bench behind you.

"'Night, Poe."

His fingers found themselves in your hair, and you let out a soft moan (goddamnit). You heard him hum a familiar tune- some slow, showy dance number you'd first heard from a ball somewhere- and you leaned back against the bench, eyes closed.

Woke up with a jolt when you felt shuffling from above your head.

Poe was shivering.

He had a blanket from his emergency kit draped across him, but the pilot was mumbling nonsense in his sleep, his form shaking.

You shrugged off your (his) jacket then, no thoughts-

(He was your second impulse.)

\- and covered him up, on top of the blanket. He sighed, content, and you swore the bubbling heat in your head was a dream.

"Hmphf," said Poe, and you glanced down at the sleeping face in front of you.

You were about to sit back down, when you heard his three words.

"Love you, Finn."

Must have been too much flying on both of you.

 

* * *

 

You looked up at the stars, and you remembered the first time.

You'd gone up to the roof after lunch. There was no hurry here, no timed meals, no rushing to eat lest you train on an empty stomach. No fellow stormtroopers, just a cafeteria full of diverse faces, in their own groups, at their own tables. Free to choose whatever they wanted, eat whenever they please.

You were fully converted (and convinced) to stay.

The roof was empty. The skies seemed to cloud over, and darkness ruled over light.

"Stars' all out," said a familiar voice.

You turned, and there he was, back from a mission. Orange jumpsuit, life support, the whole package.

"BB-8 couldn't make it up the stairs?" you joked. It was an obvious lie. That droid was capable anything.

He chuckled. Shook his head. "Nah," he took a step closer to you, "Just didn't want to come up here."

"Did he say why?"

He was standing beside you now, and you were praying that the sudden incessant drumming in your heart could stop. Your head was spinning up a storm.

"He might have said," Poe began, and you couldn't help but watch him. "You two need some time alone."

This. All of this. Ridiculous business. Poe was so much. Too much. Years. People. Experiences.

It was impossible to hear what you heard him saying.

"I was right up there." He pointed a finger in the far northeast direction of the sky, when you fell silent. "Light years from here, and BB-8 couldn't shut up about you."

"About me?" That droid? You?

_What?_

He nodded, "Something along the lines of how I--uh--needed to talk to you."

And there was an air about Poe that you had not felt before. He rubbed the back of his neck--eyes cast down, and you stood, eyes darted off in the direction of the sky.

"Wish I could've known what he said," you muttered. "Thought I'd told him all the truth."

"No, well--he," Poe bit his lip, those heavy browns looking up at you again.

"--he said to show you how beautiful the stars are, when we get back, which is a pretty weak forecast for this time of night, if you ask me."

Oh.

Nothing to worry about, then.

You scanned the sky, ending with the face next to you.

"It's fine," you said, "We could try some other day."

 

* * *

 

MESSAGE

FROM: POE DAMERON

TO: FINN (Resistance Base)

SENT: 1900 HOURS

 

BY THE WAY, THE STARS ARE OUT TONIGHT.

(BB-8 WANTED ME TO TELL YOU THAT.)

 

END OF MESSAGE

 

* * *

 

Poe Dameron was singing.

Poe Dameron, ace X-Wing fighter pilot of the galaxy, was singing, and admittedly you wished you could disappear.

His voice sounded as you'd imagined. Rich as caramel. Tender, and warm. The fireside kind of warm. Slow, pooling heat.

 

_Blue moon._

_You knew just what I was there for._

_You heard me saying a prayer for._

_Someone I really could care for._

 

You'd stepped in at the wrong time, that was it.

Rey had told you he was in his quarter, and you needed a book of his.

What you found was one Poe Dameron, swaying to the music of his own voice. BB-8, rolling near his heels, was crooning along.

You coughed.

"This a bad time?"

Poe stopped, turned, and breathed a sigh.

"Now it isn't," he ran a hand through his hair (already tousled from wearing that favorite helmet of his), corner of lips lifted up, "Not with you around."

 

* * *

 

"You remembered."

His bed was warmer than you'd thought. His voice, lingering close to your ears. Breaths. You never wanted to wake up.

Not while he's lying next to you like this, no.

"I did-- still do," you said, finger tracing his arm, "I mean. Who likes white chocolate?"

"People," he replied, bemused, turning so he was facing you, face resting on elbow.

Short words. He thought he was indecipherable.

"So how was it?" you asked, "Good, terrible. Don't ever bake again..."

He chuckled, pressed his lips to the skin at the base of your neck. "Love your cake," more humming, of a song you again failed to recognize.

"Muffin," you retorted, tilting your head back, "I made you muffins."

"White chocolate banana, I know," he replied, and you couldn't resist the urge to lean up and cover up that smart mouth with yours.

Poe had stepped off the X-Wing with a bounce in his steps. You were there, waiting, when he ran up to you. Cradled your face in his hands and kissed you on the lips.

There were no fireworks, just good old nerves explosions.

"I'm an idiot," he confessed, when his lips left yours. His arms drew you in, and you wanted to stay. "Jess kept telling me about--Should've known--I--"

"--but you're..." _someone. And I am not. You're Poe Dameron, and I'm a kid starting out. You're the Resistance's best, and I'm just learning how to fly._

"Listen," he started, taking your hand, "It's you, Finn. It's you, alright?

I just wasn't-- I didn't want--"

You kissed his hand this time. "Rey had to tell me," you said, "I can't get anything done around you."

"And yet," he returned the now-empty box to you, "You baked."

That heat spreading in your cheeks.

Today was already a bit too much to start with.

"Had to tell you in _some_ way."

And the rest, as they say, was all Poe Dameron.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a true story.
> 
> Written over multiple legs of a trip:
> 
> Conception and first draft: Las Vegas  
> Started writing: San Diego  
> Continuation: Amtrak from San Diego to L.A.  
> Continuation, Part II: Ghirandelli Square queue, San Francisco  
> Long, big finish: Air Canada Flight, San Francisco to Toronto
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed it :), and Happy 2016!
> 
> Feel free to drop by my tumblr @ dolanx if you wish - and let me know what you think :D
> 
> X


End file.
